I waited at the creek most of the night for Jodi and her explanation.

I waited. And waited. And waited. The worst part was explaining how absolutely and utterly pitiful I was to my roommate the next morning.

“How late did you come in last night?” Tom asked at breakfast: powdery eggs, greasy bacon, hash browns and sausage links. All with the cafeteria-stamped guarantee of gastrointestinal failure.

“3 AM.”

“Wow, your date with Jodi must’ve been incredible for you to risk being written up.” Tom observed, heightening my pain.

Our RA, Lurch, had in fact written me up. He was anal enough to wait by the door until I entered, so he could hand it to me himself.

“Was her explanation worth all the crap she’s put you through?”

“She never showed.”

His jaw dropped. “What!?”

I didn’t bother responding.

“You have got to be kidding me, Jordan. I mean, you left at what 3 PM? It took 12 hours to figure out she wasn’t going to show?”

“I thought maybe she was running late.”

“You’re such a freaking tool.”